Parallels
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: Kurt has had nightmares since he was eight. He just hasn't had Blaine to get him through them before, that's all. Klaine. A parallel to my earlier story "Unorthodox Nightmares." Oneshot. COMPLETE.


Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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"Blaine."

A firm hand gripped his shoulder and shook him.

"Blaine."

He grunted and shifted away.

"Blaine, dude, you gotta wake up."

He covered his eyes with his forearm and took a deep breath. "Lea'me 'lone," he mumbled into his elbow, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm not kidding, Blaine. If you don't get up, I'm gonna drag you up the stairs." Blaine pulled his arm away and stared blearily at his surroundings. He vaguely remembered the storm the night before, how Kurt had clutched his arm and begged him not to drive through the rain for two hours when it was already so late. And when Kurt's parents told him he was welcome to crash on the living room couch, he gave in easily, especially when the rain pelted the windows and Kurt's fingers were laced through his.

"Why do I have to wake up?" he said, dragging his hands over his face. "What's wrong?"

Finn hunched beside the couch. The angular planes of his face seemed sharper in the fuzzy light of the darkened living room. "You gotta get upstairs," he whispered loudly. "It's Kurt."

Blaine sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. "What's wrong?" he demanded, tossing the blankets back. "Is he sick?"

"Nightmare," Finn said. "He gets them sometimes. About…about his mom. It's bad."

Blaine followed him up the stairs. "And he's having one now?"

"Uh-huh," Finn said. "Usually I try to…you know, calm him down, but I think it would be better if you were there."

Blaine paused in the hallway, his heart in his throat. Finn opened the door to Kurt's room and pushed him inside.

Kurt was curled up on his stomach, like always. But usually he slept deeply and still, his breathing quiet except for a faint soft snore every so often. Now he was restless, his legs moving back and forth under the blankets like he was running from something. And worst of all, he was making these horrible noises, high and terrified and strangled, the screams muffled in the depths of his pillow.

Blaine's heart went from being caught in his throat to vanishing altogether. He got to Kurt's bed in a few quick strides, sinking down beside him. "Hey," he whispered, putting his hand against Kurt's back and rubbing firmly. "Hey. It's okay. Wake up. Come on, babe. Come on. Wake up."

Kurt let out a half-choked moan that died away into a whimper. Blaine took him firmly by the shoulder and turned him onto his side. Kurt's face was red and marked by lines from his pillow; he gasped for breath as soon as Blaine shifted him.

"I'm here," Blaine said, raising his voice just a little. He cupped Kurt's cheeks in his hands and bent to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his pert nose. "Kurt, I'm right here, babe. You're okay. Wake up."

It seemed like years passed before those long lashes parted and he caught the first glimpse of those perfect mirror eyes, gray and colorless in the darkness of the room. Kurt stared at him, his gaze still fuzzy and unfocused. "My mom," he gasped, chest heaving. "Mom…she…"

"Kurt, look at me," Blaine said, tilting Kurt's face towards him. "Come on, babe. It's okay."

Kurt blinked at him, coming slowly back to earth. "Blaine?" he whispered. He bit down hard on his white lips.

"It's me," he said, smoothing his hand over Kurt's sleep-mussed hair. "Hey, babe. You're okay."

Kurt's face crumpled. "Oh, god, Blaine," he whispered. He bolted upright, nearly knocking his forehead against Blaine's teeth, and flung his arms around his neck. "Oh god, oh god…"

"It's okay," Blaine repeated for the millionth time, running his hand up and down Kurt's spine. "God, babe, you're shaking." He scooted a little closer and pulled Kurt to his chest, feeling his boyfriend tremble through the thin satin of his pajama shirt. "I'm right here, Kurt. I'm not going anywhere."

Kurt buried his face in the crook of Blaine's neck, digging his fingers in the soft well-washed cotton of the tee shirt Blaine had borrowed from Finn. Blaine rubbed his cheek against Kurt's temple, still murmuring a comforting stream of nonsense. He could feel the tightness of Kurt's back under his fingertips, the sharp quick shudders that could only mean tears. Blaine rocked him against his chest, one arm tight around his waist and his other hand curled around the back of his neck.

At last Kurt settled down, his ragged breaths falling back to a steady rhythm. He leaned back from Blaine's chest and wiped the cuffs of his pajama shirt against his damp eyes. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"Don't be sorry," Blaine said. He framed Kurt's chin in his hand and kissed him on the forehead. "Don't be sorry at all. You're upset. I'm your boyfriend. This is in my job description." Kurt nodded, still turning his face from him. Blaine leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips before the door opened.

"Blaine, is he…oh," Finn said. He tiptoed into Kurt's room with a mug of tea in his hands and turned on the bedside light. "Okay, good. You're awake. Here, drink this."

Blaine scooted back so he was sitting beside Kurt. Kurt wiped his eyes and held out his hands for the mug. "Thanks, Finn," he said hoarsely.

"You okay?" Finn asked, sticking his hands in the pockets of his baggy sweatpants, his dark eyes anxious. "You need me to get anything? You want me to wake up Dad?"

Kurt shook his head. Blaine massaged the small of his back carefully as Kurt sipped the tea. Finn grinned down at them, almost fondly. "Blaine's got you, right?" he said.

Kurt smiled a little, still looking down at the mug. "Uh-huh," he said.

Blaine rubbed small circles with the heel of his palm into Kurt's back. Finn gazed at his brother for a second, then bent over him, hugging Kurt briefly into his stomach in a fierce quick embrace, and bolted out of the room.

Blaine tilted his head so he could see Kurt's face better. "He's worried about you," he said, stroking Kurt's hair away from his forehead.

"I think he's just glad we don't share a room anymore," Kurt murmured into the mug. "Now he doesn't have to wake up to me…freaking out."

"Hey," Blaine said, scolding just a little. "Finn cares about you. He went downstairs and woke me up because he figured you needed me."

Kurt bit down hard on his lip. "I…I think he was right," he whispered. "I mean, I usually don't…I don't ask anyone…but I…I…"

Blaine pulled him back into his arms. He knew better than to try to say anything to Kurt. Words meant very little to Kurt at a time like this. So instead he held Kurt to his chest, Kurt's cheek pressed to his heart, his long fingers stroking through Kurt's soft hair.

After a while Kurt took a deep breath and sat up. "Thanks," he whispered, holding on tightly to the mug.

Blaine kissed the top of his head. "No need to thank me," he said. He rubbed his thumb against Kurt's temple. "This is about your mom, right?"

Kurt nodded, his lips pressing together. Blaine rubbed his back between his shoulder blades. They'd had a long talk about Kurt's mother after they started dating, about how she was young and lively and a Beatles fan and an art teacher and a fantastic baker. And how she got sick when Kurt was seven and never seemed to get better, until one night she fell asleep and just never…never woke up.

Blaine waited for the soft hitch in Kurt's breathing to settle down again. "What's going to help, babe?" he asked softly.

Kurt wrapped his fingers around the mug, his head down. "Can you get my photo album?" he asked meekly.

Blaine kissed him on the side of his neck, his lips lingering on his soft warm skin. "Sure," he smiled. "You just get comfortable and drink your tea, okay?"

Kurt nodded as Blaine slid off the bed. He knew where Kurt kept the pictures of his mother. One of the cabinets in his built-in bookshelves was packed with various mementos that were sacred to Kurt, too special to keep out for everyone could see. Blaine knelt down and rummaged through it, past the box filled with every program from every show that Kurt had seen or been in, a pair of pointe slippers signed by a dancer, and a stack of Beatles records. He knew that somewhere in the back there was a soft blue baby blanket that Kurt would deny owning, but he pulled out the royal blue and gold photo album instead.

"Here it is," he smiled. Kurt only looked slightly reassured, huddled cross-legged in the middle of the big bed. Blaine settled in beside him, their pajama-clad legs tangling under the covers as he propped the book up on their knees. "Here. Let's start at the beginning."

Kurt opened to the first page, a photograph of his teenaged mother holding him in her arms, only hours old, her hair bedraggled and her face drawn but her eyes shining. Blaine watched Kurt's pinched expression soften. He tucked an arm around Kurt's waist, drawing him close and brushing his lips against Kurt's warm cheek. "Tell me about it," he said softly.

Blaine wasn't entirely sure when they fell asleep. But at some point they had fallen back against the pillows, the photo album falling from their hands as Kurt sleepily explained the story behind a certain picture.

He woke up slowly as sunlight filtered through the curtains. The album was still open at the foot of the bed, showing the photographs of Kurt's fourth birthday. And Kurt was fast asleep, his face calm and the rosy color back in his cheeks, his back pressed snugly into Blaine's chest. He could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, warm and reassuring. Blaine propped himself on his elbow, smiling to himself as he studied the perfect line of Kurt's jaw and the way his hair fell over his forehead. He leaned over and kissed Kurt softly on the cheek.

But then the door creaked the rest of the way opened. Blaine jumped as Burt peeked into the room, taking in the open photo album, the lamp left on, the empty mug, and the boy in his son's bed. "He had a nightmare, huh?" he said, his voice hushed.

"Uh, yes, sir," Blaine said, torn between sitting up to demonstrate some sort of propriety and staying put so Kurt could stay asleep. "I just…nothing happened, Mr. Hummel, Finn woke me up and said he…and then I…and then I guess we…"

"It's okay, kid, calm down," Burt said, folding his arms as he gazed down at his son. "You had the door open and the lights on. Could've been a lot worse." He kept his eyes on Kurt. "He just gets like this sometimes. Ever since his mother…well, I guess he told you."

Blaine stayed tense, trying not to look like he was cuddling too close to Kurt. Burt noticed the open photo album and tugged it closer, staring at the photographs with the hint of a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "You know, he looks just like his mom," he said. "Acts like her, too. If she was still around, the two of them would…"

His voice trailed off and he flipped the photo album shut. "Just…whenever he wakes up, make sure he eats something," he said. "He gets real picky after a bad night."

"I will," Blaine said softly.

"Thanks for sticking with him," Burt said. "That…that means a lot."

Without thinking, Blaine patted his hand against the smooth plane of Kurt's stomach. "It's…it's nothing," he said, unable to come up with the right words.

Burt bent over his sleeping son and dropped a light, rough kiss on the top of his head. Blaine held still, finally relaxing when Burt left the room (still leaving the door open).

Kurt didn't wake as Blaine nestled closer to him, his body soft and warm and pliable against his. Blaine tucked his chin against Kurt's shoulder and hugged his arms around his waist. Kurt made a faint noise and shifted against him, pulling his arms into his chest. Blaine lightly kissed the satiny warm spot behind Kurt's ear, his heart aching with some sort of tension that was awful and wonderful at the same time.

Kurt sighed, soft and content, and Blaine saw his lashes part. "Blaine?" he murmured, his voice high and faint and sleepy.

"Good morning, darlin'," Blaine said, kissing the side of his neck again.

Kurt shifted around to face him, his knees resting on Blaine's thighs and his arms drawn up to his chest. "Hi," he said, smiling sleepily, his teeth showing and his dimple popping and his eyes squinching up in the corners. "We fell asleep."

"Uh-huh," Blaine said. Kurt scooted up a little, their noses mere inches apart, his eyes soft and blue and dreamy. "Feel better?"

"Mm-hm," Kurt said. He tucked his forehead in that sweet spot between Blaine's neck and shoulder. Blaine felt the light touch of Kurt's lips through his tee shirt. "Thanks for staying with me."

"I'll always stay," Blaine said, a thrill running up and down his spine at the way Kurt's fingers tangled in the front of his tee shirt. He twisted around, drawing Kurt closer so their lips could meet, soft and slow and warm, until Kurt relaxed even further in his arms. "I love you."

Kurt leaned in to kiss him again, lips light and smooth and firm against his, and Blaine sighed into his mouth.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I feel bad for not updating, but I'm really behind on "Someday You Will Be Loved." So I thought a little bit of Klaine snuggles would appease those who are restless and relentless.

This is actually a parallel to the the first Glee story I ever posted, "Unorthodox Nightmares." (It's not the first one I've written...I don't think anyone's seen the first story I wrote...) But anyways, in that story, Finn wakes up in the middle of the night because Kurt is having a pretty awful nightmare about his mother, and he sort of attempts to comfort him. That's back somewhere around "Theatricality." Now we're up to "Original Songs," and now not only is Finn a fairly devoted big brother, but he knows that Kurt is going to want Blaine.

I don't know about you guys, but I have a nice case of the warm fuzzies right now.

This started off as all emo and serious and angst-ridden...and then it turned into unabashed Klaine cuddles. Kluddles, if you will.

Enjoy, my dears.


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